


Redemption

by Jiffers



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9950537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiffers/pseuds/Jiffers
Summary: What is the answer to betrayal?  To the Calling?





	1. Chapter 1

He considered it a winning night when the floor didn’t move away from him.  Too many days blended into evenings that turned into mornings waking up in cramped, dirty holes even rats avoided.  He had lost count of the months spent drowning memories and in all fairness, had no desire to figure it out.  His only concern was limping his way to the next hollow pit when the booze dried up.  Unnamed taverns in unknown towns had become the routine and he was loath to change that.  Money never seemed to be a problem, he had the sort of luck that always put enough jingling coins in his pocket to cover that night’s blacked out bliss, but the idea of staying in one place caused his stomach to curdle.  It wasn’t trying to outrun the past as much as buffering it behind layers of numbness and alcohol induced amnesia.  Thinking ached, but feeling hurt worse.  

Tonight should have been just like any other in an endless procession prior.  The Hanged Man was located in a seedy part of Kirkwall.  He hadn’t observed very many guards or worse, Templars, circulating through the warren like streets.  The few patrons present kept to themselves and the barmaids kept the drinks flowing from the bar to the tables.  It was a perfect place to get lost and the sandy haired man was determined to take it up on that offer.  From his seat against a side wall, he started to down his third beer of the hour when a commotion in the entranceway caught his blurry attention.  

He recognized the stout dwarf that held the large suite at the top of the tavern.  Loud and brash, the rogue was not someone he wanted to associate with so he had kept his head down while the storyteller held court at a table by the bar.  His companions were more sedate.  The raven tressed young woman tugged playfully on the low queue of her blonde lover before leaning over to whisper in his ear.  He laughed once, a short barking sound, then reached up to cup her cheek.  With a quick kiss, she straightened and headed to the bar to order some drinks for the table.  The watching man felt his heart lurch and he turned back to his ale with a slight sneer on his lips.  Love is a lie, he muttered under his breath as he took a pull of the bitter brew.  

The door slammed open again and a tall red haired woman in full armor stomped in.  She carried a steel helmet under her arm and surveyed the tavern with the eye of a warrior.  The plate on her breast marked her as a member of the Kirkwall guard and he shrank a little into himself to avoid drawing her notice.  With a satisfied look, the formidable figure joined the dwarf at his table.  He noted that the blonde tensed away as she settled heavily on the bench, but she ignored him beyond a stiff nod in greeting.  The dwarf cocked an eyebrow as he shuffled a deck of Wicked Grace cards effortlessly in his hands.

“Where’s Rivani?” he asked, the paper squares dancing between his fingers.  “I thought she said she was going to be here.  Something about finally getting Blondie to play strip the mage if she won.”

 The dark haired woman snorted as she rejoined the group.  “Oh you know her.  Probably got distracted by some new deckhand.  A new ship docked earlier today.”  She squeezed in next to the other man and smiled at the guardswoman.  “Aveline!  I’m glad you could make it tonight.  Let the city take care of itself for an hour or so.  It won’t fall down around our ears.”  She paused for a moment, considering.  “Well, at least not while we’re all here under one roof.”

Aveline grunted, then offered the smaller woman a tight grin.  “I should be able to laugh at that, Hawke, but sadly I think it’s more truth than jest.”

The watching man found himself slightly intrigued by the Fereldan accents, but dismissed the table and turned back to his now warm ale.  Taking a sip, his lip curled at the bitterness.  At least it was cheap and plentiful, he mentally justified and raised the mug with both hands to rest the opening against the arch under his nose.  He shut his eyes for a minute and reached for the numbness that was his constant companion.  Irritatingly, it hovered just out of reach and he sighed before taking another sip of drink.  He choked down the swill and felt the boneless dissociation start to settle into his legs.  The warm, heaviness was a welcome distraction and he relaxed knowing oblivion wouldn’t ignore him tonight. 

The back and forth banter flowed around him and for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to lean against the wall and rest the back of his head with a dull thud against the rough wood.  Adjusting his seat slightly, his fingers thumped out soft rhythms on the tabletop while he enjoyed the buzz that was softening the hard edges of his thoughts.  Lost in lethargy, it might have been only moments later when his arm spasmed and sent the mug spiraling across the table to crash into his lap.  He jumped to his feet at the feel of the liquid soaking into his linen pants.  “Shit shit shit!” He stumbled backwards as he tripped over his feet and slid down the wall to land in a puddle of sour ale.  With a groan, he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands.

The chatter in the tavern had fallen off during his outburst, but soon resumed.  Drunken outbursts were common and didn’t rate much notice if that’s all they offered.  A figure crouched down in front of him and rested a hand on his shoulder.  “Hey,” she said, giving his shoulder a shake.  “Are you ok?”

Cloudy amber eyes peered through clenched fingers at the unexpected invasion.  “M a’lite,” he managed to produce on his second attempt.  The dark haired woman from the dwarf’s table knelt at his side and looked on with concern.  “No, not ok,” he amended with a hiccup.  “Worse than ok.  Disgraced traitor, that’s what I am.”

“Well let’s get you back upright then,” she flashed a quick grin and grabbed him under an arm before attempting to haul him to his unsteady feet.  “Oooch,” her nose wrinkled at both the unwashed odor and his weight.  “Hold that thought.  Aveline?” she called out.  “Can you give me a hand here?  Just…  watch your nose.”

The guards woman strode over to his other side, grimacing at the puddle of ale.  “Here, let me.”  With a powerful yank, she drug him to his feet.

He blinked at the sudden change of elevation.  “I don’t want any trouble.”

Aveline recoiled at his breath.  “And I don’t want to give you any.  But I think you may have had enough to drink for tonight.”

“No!”  The slurring of his denial caused his face to redden.  It was one thing to be tanked alone, but to have witnesses tinged a part of him he thought long dead.

The dwarf waved a barmaid over and spoke quietly in her ear.  Norah nodded and gestured up the stairs.  He slipped her a gold piece and with a smack on her rear, ambled over to join the group.  “I’ve secured him a bed upstairs where he can sleep it off.  You look familiar, stranger.”  Stroking a blunt finger across his bottom lip, he regarded the sandy haired man for a moment under lowered brows.  “But you’re not from Kirkwall.”  With a shake of his head, he shrugged his shoulders.  “It’ll come to me.  It always does.  Now who are you and why are you making a mess of my place?”

Slumping against the wall, the man felt his feet start to slip and he hastily adjusted his stance.  The shorter woman snorted and righted the bench.  She gave a slight push in its direction and he collapsed with a groan.  “I’m a nobody,” he wanted to say.  What actually came out was “I’m a prince of Fereldan.”

The group exchanged glances and she patted him on the shoulder again.  “Well, Prince Fereldan.  I am Princess Hawke of the Ass End of Kirkwall. This is Viscount Varric and you’ve already met Captain Aveline of Everything Right and Proper.”  The blonde man snickered as he joined the group.  Aveline shot him a glare and he lowered his eyes.

“I am a prince of Fereldan, I’m telling you!”

“He… does look a little like King Cailan,” Aveline said slowly.  

The group studied him pensively and he felt his hackles rise.  “Just leave me alone.  I’ve had enough of people like you.  You’re all the same.”  He turned his attention to his hands, worrying a loose piece of skin on the side of his thumbnail.  

“Well you look like shit."  The simple statement caused his head to jerk up.  A pair of amused golden eyes gleamed at him from face fringed by a dark curtain of hair.  

“Isabella?” He peered at her in disbelief.  “You look… different.”  
  
“Don’t we all…”  The pirate cocked a hip and rested her hand on it.  “My, my, Alistair.  What the hell happened to you?”

He bit his lip, feeling the sharp sting and the salty taste of blood as it pooled at the base of his teeth.   “Don’t look at me,” he ground out angrily.  “I’m not that same boy who blundered through every situation.  I just want to drink away everything until it’s time for my calling.  And then drink a little more.  What’s wrong with that?”

 She walked towards him, her pace slow and naturally sensuous.  “What’s wrong with that?” she echoed.  “Alistair, you’re a prince.  In my experience, princes don’t hang out in low end bars smelling like the bottom of an ale barrel.  And I can’t remember the last time Corff served any of his swill to a darkspawn.”  Isabella poked him in the chest with a finger and he flinched at the sharp pain.  “You turned tail and ran, Oh prince of pity.  But luckily for you, there are still people who give a rat’s ass about you.”  She stepped aside and gestured towards the man standing behind her.

Alistair sighed and dropped his head at the sight of the auburn haired figure.  “Teagan…”  He reached for his mug and then tossed it down when he found it empty.  

“So you are here.”  The elegantly dressed man stepped gingerly over the sticky mess of drying ale.  His face was unimpressed as he regarded the pitiful figure slumped on the bench.  

“Go away, Teagan,” Alistair muttered.  “You’re not wanted here.”

“On the contrary,” Varric offered from the edge of his unwanted audience.  “I have a feeling he’s very much wanted here.  How did you manage this, Rivani?”  He turned to the dusky pirate with a raised eyebrow.

She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest.  “Let’s just say that I keep my ear to the rumors.  Believe it or not, I knew this waste of space during the Blight.  He could have been one of the heroes, but he came down with a severe case of the ‘I don’t give a damns’ and bailed.  One of my contacts on the Sea Darter knew he was heading here so I might have passed that info along to someone who has been looking for him.” 

Alistair shot to his feet so quickly that he staggered and started to tip over.  Teagan stepped forward and grabbed his shoulders to steady him.  “That’s enough, Alistair.  I think you’ve wallowed long enough, don’t you?”  The younger man tried to pull away, but Teagan held him solidly.  “Look at me, Alistair,” he said gently.  

The silence stretched thick as their eyes met.  “What am I supposed to do?” The younger man whispered, his voice broken and hoarse.

Teagan pulled him forward and rested his forehead against the top of Alistair’s bowed head.  “Start again,” he answered.  “Come with me.  Back to Fereldan.  You might have given up on us, but we never gave up on you.  We’ve been searching for you for two years now.  Let us prove that to you.”

Alistair stepped back, his open face - usually so quick to smile - was pale and blotched with red streaks from too many nights spent in a bottle.  Tears trailed down his cheeks as a glimmer of hope lit his eyes.  Teagan’s blue gaze drilled through the years of self-pity and he felt the last of his defensiveness fall.  The impotent rate he had hidden behind crumbled and he was left with a sense of emptiness that chilled him to the bone.  “Aislynn?”

Teagan smiled and brushed a hank of hair off his nephew’s forehead.  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said quietly.  “For now, let’s get you home.”  He turned to Isabella and offered her a slight blow.  “Thank you for your help.  I might have been chasing him forever if you hadn’t have sent advance word.”

The dark haired pirate looked him over and tossed her curls with a lascivious look.  “I can think of one way for you to thank me properly.”  She crossed her arms under her breasts and jiggled them at the embarrassed Arl.

“Another time perhaps,” Teagan demurred.  “For now I think I’ll concentrate on getting my errant nephew dried out.”  He drew Alistair’s arm over his own shoulders and started for the door.  “I think we’ll best spend the rest of this night on my ship before we set sail to Highever.”

Alistair sighed as they headed into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

The boat ride seemed endless.  The majority of that due to Teagan locking Alistair in his cabin after he discovered him trying to barter rum off the crew.  Days stretched into nights as the former Warden battled demons behind closed eyelids.  Delirium walked at his side constantly and the ghosts of past mistakes taunted him.  

 He could see Aislynn in her leather armor, a brackish smear of darkspawn blood across her forehead where she had wiped the sweat away.  The smile she held only for him, flashed gently across her face as they sat around the fire at camp.  The hurt in her emerald eyes as he turned and walked out of the Landsmeet and the way her hand fell useless to her side as she reached for him.  He relived the hurt he felt at her betrayal - seeing it as a stab at Duncan and Cailan’s sacrifice.  Each time he woke from a blackout, his jaw ached from clenching against the memories.  His palms hurt from digging his nails into them as he fought against the addiction in his system.

 On the fourth day, the boat landed in Highever.  The scrape of the hull against the wooden dock irritated him and he raged at anyone who wandered too close to the porthole.  Teagan sighed and sent for help when he showed no signs of calming down.  The afternoon was drawing to a close when the door to the cabin finally creaked open and Alistair shot a sideways glare from beneath his arm.  The interior of the room was a mess of torn papers and blankets as a slight figure picked her way in.

 “Wynne?” He started to sit upright on the berth, but collapsed back with a hiss of pain.  “Go away, Wynne.  I don’t need your interference yet again.”

 She regarded him with eyes of icy blue and pinched lips.  “I can see that, Alistair.  It is quite obvious that you need no one.  You would appear to be doing just fine on your own.”  

 Teagan stepped beside her and clasped his arms behind his back.  “It’s worse than I thought it would be,” he commented.  The two stood in silence for a moment and regarded the figure on the bed.  Alistair glared at them and rolled on his side on the rough bunk.

 Wynne shook her head and turned to Teagan.  “What do you need from me?  I don’t think I can heal stubbornness.”

He chuckled and pulled a parchment out of his belt.  “I’ve arranged for a carriage to Rainesfere.  It takes eight days to travel from here,” he pointed at the map draw on the paper and traced a route with his finger, “to here.  Obviously, he isn’t in any condition to travel and to be honest, I’m not sure I wouldn’t kill him a day into the trip.  Which would render the lengths we’ve gone to save his sorry arse - pointless.”

“I’m still here, ya know,” the figure on the bed muttered.  “You could ask me directly.”

Teagan rolled his eyes.  “Ok, Alistair.  What do you propose would be the best way to transport you from Highever to Rainesfere?”

“Simple.”  Alistair rolled to his other side to face them.  “You don’t.  You let me go - forget you saw me.  In fact,” he gingerly eased his legs over the bed and attempted to sit up again.  “You forget me period.”

“Yes,” the Arl drawled in an amused tone.  “Because that is exactly what we’re going to do.  After a year and a half of chasing you all over bloody Thedas, finally locating you and then dragging you back to Fereldan, the first thing we are going to do is just send you back on your way to a bottle.”  His voice rose and Alistair blinked.  “What we ARE going to do is lug you safely to Rainesfere and dry you out.”  He stepped forward and flicked the younger man in the forehead.  “Whether you want to be or not, you are a Theirin, nephew.  This,” he gestured at Alistair with a sneer, “is not the boy I raised.  That boy was a fighter who knew what he didn’t want to be.  Who overcame whatever shit life threw at him and came out the other side stronger.  You,” he gestured again, “need to remember how to be that Alistair.  Not the one sulking around in a puddle of self pity.”

Turning to Wynne, Teagan sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “Any suggestions - not from you,” he stopped Alistair with a raised finger.  “Any suggestions on how might be the best way to move this lumox would be most welcome, Madam.”

Wynne tapped her chin and studied the sullen man pensively.  She hummed slightly under her breath as she considered and discarded options in her mind.  “There is a potion master herbalists can distill from elfroot and some lyrium dust.  It will send the one who ingests it into a deep sleep.  However, it only lasts for about four hours and I’m not sure extended exposure would be beneficial.”  She looked at Teagan.  “You said the journey to your bannorn will take eight days?”  At his nod, she shook her head and rejected the notion.  

Chewing on her bottom lip, she walked over to gaze out the porthole.  Teagan patiently started picking up the messy piles of paper strewn about the cabin while he waited on her thoughts.  Alistair crossed his arms and alternated glaring between them both.  His head spun and he felt the deep clawing need for a drink.  The gentle rocking of the boat against the mooring was making him stomach churn and he considered throwing up on his uncle’s feet.  With a tinge of remorse, he swallowed hard and turned to glare at the wall instead.  After four days of sobriety, he was starting to feel something other than alternating rage and numbness and he wasn’t sure he welcomed the change.

“I may have something,” Wynne’s soft voice broke the silence.  Teagan straightened and cocked an eyebrow at her.  “I just reached out to my spirit,” she confided.  “It suggests that we might employ a selective spell from the Entropy branch of magic.”  

Alistair shook his head violently.  “No, no spells.  No magic.  Anything but magic.”  He scuttled backwards on the bed until his back rested against the wall.  

“While I am a spirit mage, I do have some knowledge of that spell.”  They moved closer to the door, heads bent in discussion.  With a quick glance at the bed, she lowered her voice.  “I’m not sure if what I know is enough to risk permanently injuring him if I’m wrong.”

Teagan followed her gaze towards Alistair with a frown ridging his eyebrows.  “I’m not sure if we have a choice at this point,” he answered her.  “He has to go to Rainesfere.  That is the only place we can salvage him.  How does this spell work?”

The figure on the bed shoved his fingers in his ears and screwed his eyes shut.  “No magic,” he chanted, thumping his head against the wall.

Wynne scowled at his antics and shot Teagan a sideways look.  “Are you sure this is what she wants?”

He gave a short bark of laughter and shrugged.  “I can’t imagine she’d agree if she saw him now.  But you know he’s a good man at the core.  He’s still that good man,” he paused as Alistair’s thumping grew louder.  “Somewhere in that mess.”  The Arl trailed off in thought.  “Love is a powerful motivator,” he said quietly.  “Let’s just hope it’s enough.”  He clapped his hands together and Alistair jumped.  “If you’re willing, then let’s give it our best shot, Madame.”

Wynne nodded and approached the bed.  Alistair straightened and brought his arms up to ward her off.  She smiled sadly and inscribed a spell sign in the air.  “Peace,” she told him.

The sandy haired man froze in mid-bat.  The air itself seemed to take on the consistency of thick honey and he found his arms were too heavy to hold up.  Relaxing into a slouch, his thoughts became dreamy and he offered her a sweet grin.  “I’m sorry, Wynne.  I’m so, so very sorry,” he slurred.

“I know you are, lad.”  She kept drawing wards around him and he could feel himself drifting away.

“I’m not worth it.  You know what I’ve done.”  His voice hiccuped as his shoulders slumped.  “I’m not worth it.”

  
“One might think so, Alistair, but you’ve forgotten the most important part.”  His teary eyes met Wynne’s blue ones and she cupped his cheek with a soft hand.  As the healing sleep overcame him, he heard her whisper, “Aislynn thinks you are.”


	3. Chapter 3

Alistair opened his eyes with a groan and clutched his head.  His head ached and the room spun slightly at first, then stabilized as he lay still.  He turned his head to the side and noted the stone walls draped with vivid tapestries.  The bed on which he reclined was covered in a royal blue tapestry, but there was nothing familiar at first sight.  He gingerly rose to sit on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over the rough growth on his chin.  The fireplace was barren, but the room itself was warm from the afternoon sun that filtered through a series of high windows set in the wall.  “Afraid I’ll try to set myself on fire,  Uncle?” he called out towards the heavy wooden door.  Silence was his only answer.  He gazed around noting a table set between two chairs were the only furniture present.  A pewter ewer and a wooden mug sat on the wooden surface and he shuffled over to peer inside.  With a disgusted snort, he set the pitcher of water back down and turned towards the door.  

“Hello!  Hey!  You can’t keep me in here, you know.  I didn’t ask for this!”  He knocked on the hard surface and winced at the pain in his fist.  “Teagan!  Let me out.”  He pressed his ear against the door, but couldn’t hear any movement through the thick wood.  With a sigh, he rested his palms against it and softly banged his forehead.  Convinced that he was a prisoner for now, he staggered to a chair and sat heavily down.  

“My… wouldn’t Oghren be proud of you.”  The soft Orleasian lilt caused the fine hairs on his neck to rise and he froze with a grimace.  He could feel the unsettling presence of the former bard behind him and squeezed his eyes shut in commiseration.  The last person - no, he silently amended to himself, the second to last person he wanted to see.  But surely Andraste wouldn’t be so unkind to send both Leliana and Morrigan to torture him.

“Leliana,” he ground out.  “Why in the Maker’s name are you here.  Can’t a man just die in peace?”

The lithe red head ran a hand over his shoulders before stepping in front of him.  She regarded him closely through keen blue eyes, then leaned in to inhale the scent of old ale and dried sweat.  She smiled crookedly and brushed a hank of hair from his sticky forehead.  “Ah, but you are not dying quite yet, no?  In fact, you are not dying today.”  She popped him on the nose with a slender finger and moved towards the empty fireplace.  “Thing is, Alistair… you don’t really want to die at all.”  She cast an enigmatic look over her shoulder.  “You are just afraid to live.”

His back stiffened fast enough that his teeth clicked together.  “That is not true,” he spat out.  “I’m not afraid to live.  I’ve done plenty of living, in fact.”   All the anger and the heartbreak he had carefully buried for two years came lashing out.  He was no longer numb; now he felt like a molten stream of fire was churning just below the surface of his skin.

She turned with a low giggle.  “Aww, little Alistair.  Little prince but not a prince.  There is a fine line between merely living and living.”  The bard threw a graceful gesture in his direction and the room started spinning.

The hurled insults almost hurt worse than the clods of dried mud the stable boys pelted him with.  The slight boy wiped his nose in a sleeve.  He must have done something to anger the Arl, he reasoned as he hid in the hay loft.  If only he had been quieter or smarter, Eamon wouldn't have felt the need to banish him to the stables.  The others called him a bastard and turned their backs when he drew near, laughing behind their hands.  Small for his age, he handled the physical blows to his body, but the cruel names crushed his spirit. “I don’t understand,” the boy whimpered.  “I need to fix this, but I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“That is because you didn’t do anything to cause that.”  He jumped at the unexpected sound.  Duncan knelt beside him in the hay and brushed a smear of mud from his face.  “You were just a child,” he said kindly.  “You were never supposed to be in that position as the son of King Maric.  Eamon was weak in the face of infatuation.”   

The boy straightened and then felt big again. Alistair stared at his tightly clenched hands before turning to face the elder warden.  

The naturally sharp planes of Duncan’s cheeks were rendered gaunt by darkspawn taint.  His russet beard appeared streaked with silver and blood.  Alistair collapsed on his knees and reached out for his mentor.  “I’m sorry, Duncan.  I should have stopped it. If I had been there...”

“Then you would have died as well.  None of this is your fault.”  A slight Orleasian lilt was at odds with the piercing glare from the fallen Warden Commander’s fierce eyes.  He pointed across the room and asked, “Could you have stopped that?”

He turned to see Cailan, hanging limp on a hastily constructed idol. Alistair’s legs felt heavy and he stumbled back, tripping over his feet.  Trying to right himself, he panicked at the sight of a heavy bronze gauntlet covering his arm.  He fumbled at the release, trying to shed the weight of the unwanted amour as Cailan raised his head.   “I’m sorry, brother,” he pleaded, bowing his head at his feet.  “I didn’t want to be king.  I just wanted to be happy and that wasn’t enough to keep you alive.”  Cailan opened his mouth in a silent scream and his golden brown eyes seemed to pierce right through Alistair.  The younger warden shivered in terror as the King’s armor suddenly felt too large and unwieldy. 

Duncan grabbed his arm and spun him around.  “No.  There is nothing you could have done.  The battle was lost.  And you were not to be a casualty in this one.  You need to remember that.”  He grabbed Alistair by the shoulders and overbalanced him, sending him flying backwards into a chair.  He clutched at his body to assure himself that the armor wasn’t real.  With a sense of relief, he limped to the table to pour some water for his parched throat.

“Alistair,” she said.  “I can’t handle these abrupt shifts in your mood.”

He knew that voice anywhere.  “Aislynn…”  His heart lurched at the thought of seeing her again.  He wanted to hold her close and apologize for what he had done, beg her forgiveness.  But a larger part wanted to still cling to the anger of her betrayal.  Both notions terrified him equally, but he had thought in his heart she wouldn’t come.  Her scent, the one of vanilla and campfire, teased his nose and he squeezed his eyes shut in agony.  “Yeah, well… that’s what drinking is for.  So I don’t have too either.”

“Well that is a mature choice to make,” her tone was mocking.  He dropped the cup and whirled around to push her backwards on the bed. He loomed over her as she reclined on her elbows, one auburn eyebrow raised in challenge.

His face reddened in anger and she flinched at the spittle that hit her cheek as he raged.  “I gave you everything.”

“Did you, Alistair?  Did you give me everything?”  Aislynn rose from her spot on the bed and brushed past him.  She traced the intricately carved spirals on the footboard as she moved away, almost seeming to float across the floor.  He watched the trail of her delicate finger before sitting heavily down in her vacated spot.

“The blasted Blight took everything from me…”  He trailed off as he buried his head in his hands.  The moment was frozen in time before his shoulders started shaking and he began to sob.  “I lost everything.”

She fell to her knees in front of him and squeezed his knees between her hands.  “Alistair, you have to let Duncan go.”  He went still and she shook him slightly.  “It’s been three years.  He wouldn’t want you to still be grieving like this.”

His breath caught and he peered through linked fingers at her.  His red streaked amber eyes widened in disbelief and then he started to laugh. 

She sat back on her heels and regarded him warily as the laughter turned almost manic.  “Duncan?” he ground out breathlessly.  “You think this is about Duncan?  Yes, I lost the man that I looked up to like a father.”  He seemed to gain control of his swinging emotions and slumped back wearily on the bed.  “But I came to terms with that a while ago.”  His voice broke as he stared into her warm eyes.  “Why did you do it, Aislynn?  Why did you leave me?  Why let Loghain live?”

She gestured to the side with a flick of her head.  He turned to look and felt the room spin again.  With a hiss, he squeezed his eyes shut until the nausea passed.  

“Enough,” Logain shouted.  “Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel.”

Alistair’s head jerked up at the proclamation.  “Will you face me yourself or have you a champion?” 

“I will fight this duel myself.”  Aislynn stood proudly in her leathers, twin daggers sheathed at her side.  

Alistair started to shove through the crowd when Loghain caught his eye and laughed cruelly.  He winked at the younger man then turned to the woman standing before him.  “It is you or me the men will follow, so let us fight for it.  Prepare yourself.”  

Aislynn unsheathed her blades and nodded in agreement.  Her face was pale, the sprinkling of freckles standing out on her cheeks.  She adjusted her grip and signalled her readiness.  Alistair tried to call out to her, but the roaring of the crowd drowned him out.  “No,” he whispered as Eamon’s knights held him back.  “Maker please don’t let her do this.”  

The blows came hard and fast.  Loghain had the benefit of size and strength on his side, but the slimmer woman commanded agility and speed.  She took every advantage and her tireless dance started to wear away the warrior’s stamina.  After what seemed like years to the man watching with his heart in his throat, she caught Loghain with a blade to the throat.  

He fell to his knees.  “I was wrong,” his voice was hoarse.  “There is a strength in you that I have not seen anywhere since Maric died.  I yield.” 

“You’ll die for what you’ve done,” she spat as she pressed the dagger against his neck.  A slim line of red bloomed against his skin.

“Wait!”  The crowd parted as Riordan pushed through.  “There is another option.”  He gestured to the defeated warrior.  “The Teryn is a warrior and a general of renown.  Let him be of use.  Let him go through the joining.”

Alistair threw the knight’s arm off and stormed up to the Senior Warden.  “You want to make him a Warden?  Why?”

Riordan turned to face him.  “There are three of us in all of Fereldan. And there are… compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand to face the Archdemon.”  He looked pointedly from Aislynn to Alistair and her face paled.  

“Absolutely not!”  Alistair threw up his hands.  “This man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed.  How can you even consider this as an option?”

She moved towards him, tears in her eyes.  “I have to put him through the joining, Alistair.  It’s the only way to save you, to save us.”

He stepped back, face frozen and cold.  “ I guess I didn’t deserve to be so happy. I can’t do it.  Ask me for a pound of my flesh.  Or all the gold in Orlais.  But don’t ask me to accept that monster as a brother.  I guess I don’t have any choice do I?  I’m leaving.”  He turned and headed to the exit.  “I don’t want anything to do with this place or any of you people.  Ever.  I swear it.”

The massive doors swung shut and Alistair found himself back in his room at Rainesfere.  He started to say something but Aislynn silenced him with a look.

"I didn't leave you, Alistair. You made the decision to leave us."  She walked towards the fireplace and he turned to watch her.  “I knew that one of us would die,” she said quietly.  “I saved Loghain because I was selfish.  I didn’t want to lose us.  And in saving your life, I lost us.”  A tear trailed down her cheek as she turned and disappeared through the wall.

With a tortured cry, he ran to the rough fireplace and slammed his fists into it.  Unyielding stone was the only answer and he sank to his knees, pressing his forehead against the rock.  “I didn’t know.  Maker I didn’t know…”

A crash sounded behind him and he stood to see Aislynn’s lifeless body lying broken amidst a pile of darkspawn.  He felt his heart race as he frantically ran to her side.  Ignoring the battle raging around him, he gathered her limp body into his arms.  Her verdant eyes were covered by delicate lids and he begged her to open them.  Alistair shook her, pleaded with the Maker, but she remained pale and still.

“She is gone.  You didn’t protect her.”  Morrigan’s cool voice came from behind him and he snarled at her. 

Pulling Aislynn closer he felt the emptiness of her shell.  His tears ran down his cheeks and left trails in the blood covering her face.  “Please don’t be gone,” he sobbed.  “I’m sorry.  I love you, Aislynn.  Please don’t leave me.”  He frantically wiped at the gore smeared over her upturned nose.

“A great pity, wouldn’t one say?”  The mocking voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

Alistair stilled and the realization hit him.  “That never happened”, he yelled at Morrigan as Aislynn’s body melted away.  The witch gracefully reclined in a chair across from him.  As she blinked, her yellow eyes mirrored the sneer on her lips.  He jumped to his feet and pointed accusingly at her.  “You sneaky forest witch.  Aislynn never died.  I remember that day.”  He stood for a moment as the realization hit him.  “I remember…”  

Morrigan smiled and inclined her head.  “Very good, Alistair.  I’m very impressed.”  She stood and stretched lazily with one arm over her head.  “Perhaps there is hope for you after all…”  A gold mirror appeared in her hand and she gazed at it with a wry twist to her mouth.  “Come here.  I shan't hurt you anymore than you’re already hurting yourself.”  Reluctantly, he moved toward her and she handed it to him.  “Tell me what you see.”

He looked abashed and ran a hair through the unruly hair tangled at the back of his neck.  

It had grown long and lanky, brushing his shoulders in a greasy mass. His chin was covered by a bristle of reddish blonde fuzz and his eyes were deeply shadowed in a face grown sallow and thin.  “I see a stranger,” he said.

She laughed loudly and crossed her arms.  “Shall I tell you what I see?”  He shook his head no, but the witch continued as if he had made no motion at all.  “I see a defeated man.  A man who gave up everything on a whim.”  She circled him, flicking a finger disdainfully.  “I see a broken man.  A dumb man - nay, a dumb boy.”  Her prowling brought her back in front of him and she raised the mirror up to his face.  “However, I also see a man with hope.  A spark, say you, of a great man.”  She pulled his arm down and caught his eyes.  “I see you, Alistair.  You… not who you’ve been or who you think you are, but the real you.  It’s time you did.”  With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared.

He couldn’t handle anymore.  Collapsing on the thick carpet, Alistair clutched his head.  Too many images of defeat and suffering mingled with the taunting blows to his psyche.  He rocked in a ball as the hot tears finally came.  So alone…  I am useless and alone.  I am worthless.  I should have died.  It should have been me.  He grieved the real loss of Duncan, the perceived loss of family in Goldanna and Cailan.  He mourned the horrors of the Blight.  He cried until he felt empty inside and there was nothing left.  He lay there spent.  The nagging desire to drown his feelings finally released its grasp.  His hand caught at the plush fabric under his face and brushed against something cool and metal.  Pulling it closer, he stared at Morrigan’s mirror.  And hoped.


End file.
